


Hazards of War

by LovinJackson



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovinJackson/pseuds/LovinJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the war with the Spanish hits a little too close to home, Athos is torn between duty and friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Torn

**Author's Note:**

> So I am in the middle of writing another multi-chapter Musketeer Fic at the moment that I am determined to not start posting until I am finished. Then this fic came out of no-where and wouldn't leave me alone until it was written. Hope you enjoy. PS. All Mistakes are my own. This is not beta'd.

The sun was warm; it's rays pleasant as they caressed his skin. Giving a brief glance upward the sky proved to be a brilliant shade of bright blue with white clouds peppering the sky. It was picturesque.

Athos glanced back down to earth as musket fire exploded near his ear. An explosion from his right rocked him, forcing him to flinch. He somehow stood his ground. His feet felt like lead as he watched his men –  _his men_  – push forward into battle. Enraged cries could be heard as soldiers attacked their Spanish counterparts with vigour. The clash of metal on metal was like a song in the air that felt a complete contrast to the beautiful scenery around them.

They had been surprised, ambushed on their way to their new encampment. Athos didn't know how, but this battle was no way happening by chance. Explosive material had been buried in the sides of the road; men had been waiting – hiding – and had caught them off guard. Dead French soldiers littered the ground around them and Athos felt his anger rise.

"Jacques!" Athos shouted to the young, newly commissioned soldier who still remained mounted. He tossed him his saddle bags. "Take these! You three!" he shouted at the shoulders around them. "Go with him! Second meeting point! Wait for us there." It was imperative that none of their orders or sensitive information were captured by the enemy. "Go!" Athos yelled, slapping the backside of the lad's horse.

With four of his men galloping away in a cloud of dust, Athos turned back to the battle. Porthos' large frame caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. His new armour glinted in the sun and seemed to make the large man all that more intimidating as he used his brute strength to throw Spanish soldier over his shoulder. Porthos growled, rage rolling off him like a fiery wave.

Athos jumped back into the fray, swinging his sword into an unsuspecting soldier, blade slicing through stomach. Pulling his sword back, Athos moved past the falling soldier. d'Artagnan was ahead of him, twirling with his blade and main gauche, defending his back while ending with the throat of his enemy slashed open.

Athos dodged an attack from his left, stumbling to his right before turning and plunging his sword toward the Spanish soldier. His attack was blocked and returned with a ferocity that caused Athos to fall back a step. Their blades clanged together, each man gaining the advantage and then fell back before Athos saw his moment, bringing down his sword twice in quick succession before kicking the man square in the chest with all of his strength. His opponent went flying, landing on his back, the air knocked from his lungs with a grunt. He didn't have time to recover, Athos sword finding itself imbedded in the man's chest.

Aramis was up towards the other end of the road, taking on two men at once. Despite his hair being tied back in a low pony tail, his unruly curls still managed to fall free, obscuring his face as he danced in battle with a flair that only Aramis could master.

Athos moved towards his friend, stopping to elbow an assailant in the nose. He reached out, grabbing a fist full of doublet as he turned, driving his blade into the soldier's stomach. The man's hand's clutched at his own leather. Athos pushed him away, moving on before the man had even hit the ground.

Aramis finished off his last opponent and looked up in Athos' direction, a rakish smile forming on his friend's face, the adrenaline of battle still coursing through his veins. How Aramis had ever expected to last in a monastery with his love for a good fight was beyond him. The man was more alive right now, than the man they had come to collect in Douai at the start of the war. Athos found himself smiling too, nodding to his friend in acknowledgment.

"Captain!"

Athos turned towards the call, the title still foreign to his ears – Captain of the Musketeers – Athos felt the urge to shake his head. Who would have thought? A fellow Musketeer was making his way over to him. Alain had been with the regiment for many years before Athos had been commissioned, a soldier many years before that. His battle knowledge was invaluable.

"They're retreating!" Athos responded as the other Musketeer reached him.

"Those that still breathe," Alain agreed. His long mousey brown hair had slipped free of its bindings, his face was flushed with exertion. "I think it would be wise to move on as soon as we can."

Athos nodded, taking in their surroundings. The sound of battle had waned, leaving behind the quiet peacefulness of the warm sun and the bright blue sky. The road around them was anything but peaceful. Soldiers from both sides of the war lay scattered where they were slain, many dead, others injured. Athos swallowed thickly as he watched Porthos and d'Artagnan leaning over an injured Musketeer.

He hated war. It was a waste of good men. He was good at it - battle and command. He was better at it than he thought he would be. But he didn't like it. With every battle he ached for the men he lost and feared for his brothers. Porthos and Aramis had both been soldiers for many years and had seen their fair share of battles. d'Artagnan on the other hand did not have the same experience, not to the extent of war. Athos trusted the young man with his life and with the life of all of his men but it didn't stop him from worrying.

Aramis appeared at his side, wiping his sword clean of blood with a rag before returning it to his scabbard. "Well that was ..."

"Unexpected," Athos intoned. He was troubled. Their movements had been classified even to other regiments. No-one but Minister Treville and the King himself had known where their company had been headed.

"In war we need to expect the unexpected, I'm afraid," Alain pulled his hair out of his face and replaced his floppy wide-brimmed hat back upon his head.

"The question is how did the Spanish know we'd be on this particular road?" Aramis asked the question as if he had been privy to Athos' silent concerns. "This was no accidental run-in, that much I am sure." The marksman picked up his hat off the ground and dusted it off before placing it back on his head.

"Jacques got away?" Alain asked.

Athos nodded, his gaze watching as what was left of his small company regrouped. "I sent three others with him. They won't stop until they have reached the back-up meeting point."

"We should check the bodies for anything useful, scan the area," Alain stated, pulling his gloves on tighter.

Aramis sighed. "We should give them a proper burial."

Athos turned to his friend, watching as his dark eyes scanned the carnage that lay before them. Athos placed a hand on his shoulder. "If we had time for such sentiment ..."

A loud shot ripped through the quiet conclusion of battle causing Athos to jump. Aramis gasped beside him. Athos' head whipped around fast to the source of the sound, mentally cursing himself for not having cleared the area immediately. His eyes landed on the end of a smoking pistol not ten feet from where they were standing.

Athos' gaze travelled up the short length of the pistol to the Spanish soldier who had fired it. The man was young and already dropping the smoking weapon and making a run for it. Athos reached out and pushed down Alain's already rising musket. "No, we take him alive." Missing that one of the soldiers was alive had been a dangerous mistake but they could make up for it by capturing a prisoner to interrogate.

Alain moved off, shouting orders to the other Musketeers and Athos watched as his men made chase and quickly brought down the Spanish soldier. Athos quickly glanced over to where he had last seen Porthos and d'Artagnan. Porthos had the injured Musketeer they'd been tending to on his feet and d'Artagnan...

"Athos..."

Athos tore his gaze away from surveying his men and turned back to look at his friend. Aramis' eyes were wide, pain and confusion showing from the brown depths.

Time seemed to slow; sound was lost to him as soldiers cleaned up the scene around them. He allowed his gaze to drop to the hand Aramis had pressed to the area just below his ribs. His green glove was stained dark as thick liquid spilled over his fingers. Athos brought his gaze back up to meet Aramis' shocked stare. He'd been hit. How had he missed that Aramis had been hit?

"Aramis ..." Athos uttered his friend's name as time suddenly sped up and the sharp-shooter's knees buckled. Athos tried to help control his friend's descent to the dirt road. Aramis fell to his knees, trembling as he clutched Athos' arm in a painfully strong grip, his fingers flexing in Athos' leather sleeve. His chin rested on his chest and his eyes were squeezed shut as he attempted to suck air into his lungs. Athos turned to look behind him for Bernard - the company's official field medic - ignoring the rising fear as he screamed for help. "Medic! I need a medic!"

He brought his attention back to his injured friend. "Aramis? Aramis, look at me!" Athos demanded. With his free hand he knocked Aramis' hat from his head and pushed back the curls. "You're okay; you're going to be okay."  _Please let him be okay_ , he thought as he attempted to lift Aramis' head up. "Hey..." he started as Aramis locked eyes with him.

Aramis' breath hitched in his chest and Athos felt his own panic build to meet Aramis'. The younger musketeer's breathing was becoming short and ragged. Athos eased him down onto his back and pulled the scarf free from around his own neck. They needed to stop the bleeding – there was so much of it. Aramis' life-blood was covering a good portion of his doublet now, the hand covering the wound doing nothing to slow it down. Athos ripped Aramis' doublet open and hastily pulled his shirt up. Aramis' hands were shaking, hovering over the weeping hole in his side. Athos quickly folded his scarf and then pressed it to the wound eliciting a growl from the injured man.

Aramis' hand flew to the one Athos had pressed against his stomach. "Athos..." Aramis gasped, pulling at Athos' hand as he pressed down harder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Athos kept his gaze locked on Aramis' panicked ones. "I have to stop the bleeding. Just … stay with us."

"Where …arghh … where w-would I go?" Aramis chuckled and then gasped again, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Aramis!" Porthos was at his side, crashing to the ground. The big man's hands hovered for a moment over the injured Spaniard as if he were afraid to hurt him further. "Where the hell is Bernard?" Porthos looked over his shoulder, looking for the absent medic.

Athos reached out and snagged the other Musketeer's wrist and pulled his hand to the wound in Aramis' side. "Keep pressure on the wound." Athos relinquished control of his blood-soaked scarf to Porthos and then reached up to where Aramis still had a white-knuckled grip on the sleeve of his doublet. He pried his friend's grip away and wrapped his fingers around Aramis' hand tightly.

The harsh, panicked breathing coming from their friend was like torture to his ears. With every second it became more of a struggle and Athos' concern grew to new heights. Where the hell was that medic? Porthos leaned in close to Aramis, whispering something Athos couldn't quite hear that made the man laugh wetly. The action turned into a cough, blood coating his lips. Athos' eyes widened at the sight. Internal bleeding? On the battlefield it could be a death sentence. Where the hell was Bernard?

d'Artagnan joined them, holding the medic's field kit in his hands. "Will this help?" The young Musketeer's eyes were glued to Aramis' shaking form.

Porthos glanced up at him "It'd 'elp more if Bernard were with it. Where is 'e?"

"He's dead," d'Artagnan supplied, his eyes lifting to meet Porthos'.

"Damn it!" The big man growled. He reached up and pulled his bandana from his head, large curls springing forth from where they had been contained. He tossed the material to d'Artagnan. "Fold it." Porthos waited until d'Artagnan had followed his orders and then pulled Athos ruined, blood-soaked scarf away and replaced it with his now folded bandana. He pressed down hard, wincing as Aramis cried out and clutched at the big man's arm, pulling him down toward him with more strength than Athos would have given him credit for.

"What are we goin' to do?" d'Artagnan asked, his eyes wide as saucers, looking to Athos for answers.

Athos kept his own gaze on Aramis. The man had his eyes closed, his face lined with distress. He was doing his best to stay with them, relying on them to do what needed to be done.

"If we don't do somethin' soon 'e's gonna bleed out, Athos," Porthos stated, truth mixed with fear filled his voice.

Did Porthos think he didn't know that? If they tried to dig the ball out now it would more than likely do more harm than good but if they didn't get the ball out and stitch him up the end result would be the same.

"Captain?"

Athos jolted at the sound of the title. He didn't want the title. He didn't want the responsibility of these men. Not now. Right now he wanted his sole attention on his injured friend. All colour had leached from Aramis' face as he fought to breathe through the pain. Regret filled him. It had been a mistake to pull Aramis away from the safety of Douai. He'd encouraged the idea, wanting their friend with them as much as Porthos and d'Artagnan had but now ... if they lost him ...

"Captain?"

"What?" he snapped, the soldier behind him flinching at the tone in his voice.

"We've found a small wagon hidden in the bushes. It has weapons and supplies…"

"A wagon?" Athos repeated, his hand still clasped tightly in Aramis' as he turned to look at his soldier.

"Yes, Captain. We believe the Spanish were set up to wait for us, hiding their supplies in the forest."

A wagon could work. Aramis couldn't ride. He'd lose blood faster and never make it to camp. But a wagon … that would be their best chance. "Get it on the road … now!"

"What are you doing?" d'Artagnan asked from his spot kneeling beside him.

"You and Porthos are going to take the wagon and get Aramis to camp," Athos instructed. He leaned forward, resting a bloody hand on Aramis' soft hair. "You need to hold on, my friend."

Aramis didn't answer. He kept his eyes tightly closed, breathing in and out of his nose and looked as if he were trying very hard to hold himself together. His hand squeezed Athos' impossibly tighter. Aramis had heard him.

He sat back on his heels, taking a shaky breath before releasing his hold of Aramis' hand, giving up his protective spot to d'Artagnan who took over without question. The boy looked grateful to have something to do, even if it was just to hold his friend's hand.

Athos stood and forced his legs to stop shaking. He was Captain of the Musketeers. He needed to act like it. Knowing Aramis was in good hands, Athos turned to his men. In the short time that it had been since Aramis had been shot, his men had cleared some of the road and were rushing to not only get the wagon on the road but get it hitched up to a couple of the Spanish horses.

"We're ready, Captain."

Athos watched as Porthos and d'Artagnan lifted their fallen comrade. The man in question groaned, the sound bordering on a whimper as Porthos pulled him backwards onto the wagon. The big man sat all the way to the front of the wagon, his back to the front seat as he pulled Aramis up against his chest. Aramis' head lulled back against Porthos' shoulder, sweat beading on his pale, clammy features.

d'Artagnan climbed up after them and wordlessly replaced the soaked Bandana with some rags that he'd procured from who knew where. Once Porthos' arm was wrapped around Aramis' body and his hand pressed against the wound he nodded up at d'Artagnan. The lad patted his shoulder before stepping over him to get to the front seat, picking up the reigns.

"Get him there as fast as you can." Athos didn't need to give the order. It was clear to everyone how imperative it was that they make haste. There was no telling if their friend would even survive the trip. The thought caused Athos' heart to beat wildly in his chest. d'Artagnan nodded at him and then whipped the reigns, shouting for the horses to move.

As Athos was left standing on the road, he watched as the wagon sped away from them with a cargo that had never been so precious.

TBC...


	2. Brotherhood

**Chapter 2. Brotherhood**

The old run-down house had seen better days, but it's peeling walls or less than stellar interior wouldn't matter. It was just a temporary situation. The location had been chosen by a couple of their scouts as a back-up site in case they needed to re-group. It was well hidden and provided some kind of shelter. Athos had been hoping that they wouldn't need to use it so soon. The afternoon's attack had forced his hand.

The house would be almost impossible to see in the dark of night. It was off the main road and overgrown trees obscured the old home enough that a person could miss the building all together if they weren't looking for it.

As they approached, Athos remained cautious. There was no room for complacency. Aramis' blood still staining his hands was proof of that. No sounds came from the house and no horses could be seen. Dark drapes prevented him from seeing any life from within the building. His men were on complete lockdown and he admired their stealth.

As they reached the front of the house a soldier - with a musket loaded and ready - exited the front door. His hat was missing and even though he was also without his doublet Athos couldn't miss the pauldron fastened proudly to his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, Athos could see that it was Jacques. He released a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding. He was glad to see that the young man had arrived, their classified information hopefully safe along with him.

"Captain," The boy called softly

Athos dismounted, Alain behind him. The older Musketeer stretched his stiff muscles as Athos approached the boy. "Everyone is safe?" Athos asked, pulling his hat from his head.

The boy nodded. "Yes."

"Did you come across any trouble getting here?" Athos wanted to ask after his friends. They had been a couple of hours behind them, making sure that nothing was missed. Now that he was here, his heart was screaming at him, his need to know their fate – Aramis' fate - was overwhelming but he was Captain now. He needed to do his job as commander before he did his job as brother.

"No, Captain. Didn't see or hear a thing," Jacques confirmed. "We've sent out patrols to keep a look out just to be sure."

"Good, good …" he nodded.

"What news of Aramis?" Alain was the one to ask the question that had been sitting on the tip of Athos' tongue. Athos looked beside him as Alain appeared at his side. The other man glanced at him with an understanding. Athos allowed a small smile of thanks.

His smile was lost as Athos took in Jacques' expression. The boy's face had fallen and Athos thought his heart might have actually stopped in his chest. His mouth felt dry and he thought he might be sick. He felt Alain's hand grip his shoulder and give it a squeeze, grounding him.

"Speak up, lad," Alain urged, keeping his hand attached to Athos shoulder.

"Aramis is upstairs," Jacques finally answered. His worried expression remained and Athos felt like his tongue was too thick to speak. They were soldiers; they lived and died by the sword but Athos was not ready for this. He wasn't ready at all. "Porthos and d'Artagnan are with him."

"So … he's alive then?" Alain prompted in frustration.

"Y-Yes," Jacques agreed.

Athos felt relief sweep through him so fast that it made him dizzy. Aramis was alive. He had _needed_ to hear that more than he was willing to admit to present company. He swallowed thickly and nodded his thanks to the boy. Alain reached around him and stole the reigns of his horse. Athos glanced at him, a frown of confusion on his face.

"Go see our man, Captain. I'll hold fort for now. Go." Alain shoved him with a knowing grin on his face.

Athos looked between Alain and Jacques. Behind Alain were the rest of his men, watching him. "See that the prisoner is …"

"Go, Athos, we've got this under control. You have somewhere more important to be," Alain stated, waving his hand towards the door of the house.

Athos didn't wait to be told a third time and he was grateful for the other man's understanding.

Since the day he had ordered the noose around his wife's neck, Athos had struggled with the consequences of that action. He'd struggled to live, burying himself deep in the abyss of a wine bottle. He'd been barely functional.

Gaining his commission into the Musketeer regiment had given him a direction, something to distract his traitorous mind from the nightmares that awaited him when his world got too quiet.

His commission into the Musketeer regiment had forced upon him people that had decided he was worth caring about. For some reason they had all gravitated towards each other and never parted. Athos still didn't know what he had done to deserve such care and attention ... such friendship.

Porthos, Aramis and - more recently - d'Artagnan made his life as a Musketeer less of a distraction. These three men had given him something else to care about as well. He needed them as much as they looked to him. They were his family. The bond was stronger even than one born of blood. He found he relied on that bond to get him through. It was the one thing that kept things together. Without that, what did he have? Honour? Duty? What was that worth without them?

He entered the house, passing another Musketeer who was huddled at a tiny fire in the middle of the room. The soldier looked up at him as his weight caused the floorboards to creak. His grim expressions did nothing to help with Athos' unease and it took all his restraint not to run up the stairs.

The hallway at the top of the landing was completely shrouded in darkness and it took a good few moments for Athos' eyes to adjust. There was someone at the end of the hall. Athos recognised the form immediately as d'Artagnan. The boy was sitting on the floor, slouched against the wall. His elbows rested on his knees. The boy was in a world of his own, staring at his trembling hands.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos called as he quickened his steps.

The younger man flinched at the sound of his own name and looked up as Athos approached. He scrambled to his feet, using the wall as leverage. Even in the dark Athos could see the dark smudges that d'Artagnan's hands had left on the light coloured walls. Blood. It didn't take a genius to know whose blood covered the young man's hands.

Athos gripped the Gascon's arm, feeling the minute tremors coursing through his body. The boy was sans his doublet, dark smudges also littered the once white material of his shirt. Athos was grateful for the darkness of the hall. He didn't want to see the red of Aramis' blood. He'd seen enough of it in the ambush.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos asked again, keeping his fingers wrapped around the younger man's bicep.

"The … the ball was buried deep," d'Artagnan started, his voice wavering in a way that had Athos' heart skipping a beat. "It was hard to extract it but … we did … _I_ did. He … God Athos, he lost so much blood. I don't know …" d'Artagnan rambled, closing his eyes with a shaky breath. Athos couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the boy so rattled.

Athos gripped d'Artagnan by his shoulders. "You've done all you can, d'Artagnan."

The boy shook his head slowly, bringing a blood tinged hand up to run through his hair. "You didn't see … what if it isn't enough?" d'Artagnan paused, shrugging out of Athos grip and paced to the window at the end of the hallway, arms now wrapped around his torso. "How does he do it, Athos?"

"How does he do what?"

"How does he remain so calm?" d'Artagnan waved a hand towards the door that separated them from their injured friend. "I've seen him patch us up time and time again without so much as a flinch and all I wanted to do was be sick as I dug inside his flesh. I …I just don't know how he does it." The Gascon swallowed thickly as he looked at Athos once again as if he should have the answers to everything that was wrong in their life in that moment. That look from d'Artagnan both terrified him and made him want to have those answers to put the boy's mind at ease.

"Aramis does what he does so that he can keep us safe. It doesn't matter that you struggled with it, it only matters that you have kept him alive." Aramis was alive. Athos couldn't think of anything else right now. The image of the marksman white as a sheet, bleeding out in the back of a Spanish wagon had plagued him all afternoon. It had taken all of his self-restraint to not jump on his horse and rush off after his brothers leaving his men to their own devices. "Thank you, d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan took a shaky breath, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a bloody swipe on his skin. He didn't seem utterly convinced by Athos' speech and it just furthered his own apprehension again. What would he find on the other side of that door? Would he find Aramis covered in blood? _Just like Thomas_. Athos sucked in a startled breath as his thoughts took an unwanted turn down memory lane. Not like Thomas. This was nothing like Thomas.

Athos mentally shook himself out of his nightmarish thoughts and concentrated on d'Artagnan, closing the distance between them. "Go and get some fresh air, my friend and clean yourself up." d'Artagnan automatically started to shake his head. Athos reached up and squeezed his shoulder and interrupted any debate before it could start. "That's an order."

d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "Using your authority on me now?"

Athos smiled. "Go."

d'Artagnan nodded, patting Athos on the stomach as he moved around him. "I'll be back."

Athos watched d'Artagnan leave, listening for his footfalls on the creaking stairs before he turned towards the closed door. The remaining two members of his small family were behind that door and one was gravely injured. Steeling himself for whatever was on the other side, Athos pushed the door open and walked into the room.

The only furniture items in the room were a single wooden bed – no mattress - and a rocking chair. Porthos was in the chair, as close to the bed as he could possibly get. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Athos paused at the sight, afraid that the slump of his friend's shoulders meant something inconceivable. "Porthos?" Athos called softly.

Porthos raised his head and looked behind him, acknowledging Athos' presence with a lift of his chin. The large man's attention went straight back to the bed. Athos followed his gaze as he moved further into the room. Aramis was lying on his back; a couple of cloaks had been placed underneath him in lieu of the missing mattress. A rough field blanket was wrapped around him up to his chest. He didn't look at all comfortable. Even in the low candlelight the sickly white pallor of Aramis' skin was obvious. His normally soft dark curls were plastered to his head with sweat and instead of the shivers Athos had expected, the injured man was deathly still. He was so still that Athos had to resist the urge to inch forward and check to make sure that Aramis was still breathing or check for a pulse.

Instead he eased himself to edge of the bed and rested his hand on top of the blanket over Aramis' leg, feeling better for the physical connection. Aramis' mouth was open and slack, his breathing was slow and sluggish. Athos looked over at Porthos. His friend's eyes were locked onto Aramis face, his hands clasped together in front of him.

"How long has he been out?" Athos' voice sounded strange to his own ears in the quiet of the dark room.

"'e passed out before d'Artagnan finished fishin' the ball out," Porthos explained without looking at him. "Scared us half to death."

Athos squeezed Aramis' leg from on top of the blanket. "Aramis is a fighter. He won't give up so easy." Athos attempted a smile in Porthos' direction. "Of that you can be certain."

Porthos huffed, wiping a large hand down his face, cupping his jaw as he nodded. A quietness settled around them once more. Normally it would be a comfortable silence but stress coated the air like a fog. It had been close ... too close.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Porthos asked after a moment.

"I sent him to get some fresh air and cleaned up."

"He did good. Aramis will be proud."

"He might make a medic out of him yet," Athos grinned. Aramis had been slowly imparting his medical knowledge over to their youngest team member since the boy had decided to stick around. d'Artagnan was like a sponge, always watching and learning.

"Don't know 'bout that."

"No?"

"Don't think 'e's too fond of wading in other people's blood and entrails. Cant say that I blame the lad."

"Well then … we'll just have to make sure our resident mother-hen makes a full recovery." Any other option was something he didn't want to consider.

"'e's gonna be fine." Porthos stated with such conviction that Athos thought he might be daring fate itself to prove him otherwise.

A long stretch of silence fell over them once more before Porthos spoke again, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. "That Spanish bastard still breathin'?"

Athos tore his own gaze away from Aramis and found Porthos' fiery stare now locked onto him. Anger was pouring off the larger Musketeer in waves and Athos couldn't fault him. He felt that anger also and it had taken a lot of strength to stop himself from exacting revenge upon the surviving Spanish soldier. The part of Athos that was Aramis' friend wanted to rip the man apart but the part of Athos that took his position seriously new that they needed to keep the prisoner alive.

"He'll be transported with us to our destination. He will be interrogated …"

"Give me two minutes with 'im." Porthos interrupted.

Athos sighed. "You, my friend, will be going nowhere near him. We need him alive."

The trial of duty verses friendship was a constant battle. How did Treville do it? For years he had watched the older man send his men on dangerous missions, make decisions for King and Country at the expense of his own men. Aramis himself had been victim to such decisions many years before in Savoy. Treville had always done his job with honour, working tirelessly to look after France and the men under his command but those two did not always go hand in hand. Athos admired his strength.

He remembered the first time Treville had mentioned the possible promotion. He'd been raging about becoming Rochefort's errand boy. Athos had remained silent as his commander had mounted his horse and ridden off to do the man's bidding. There had been no thank you; there had been no acknowledgment ... not from Athos. Of all the men in this regiment why had the new Minister of War chosen him? How was a man who could barely manage his own life, command the lives of others? He should have felt grateful, he supposed. Treville had extended a big compliment to him but not for the first time he wondered if he was the right man for the job.

Even now as he sat on the edge of Aramis' bed, watching the Spaniard's chest rise and fall with such effort, Athos felt the burden of command. This house and its cover was not a permanent solution. They needed to push on. This ambush had already delayed them. In order for their mission to be a success they could not stay here and yet it was clear just looking down at Aramis that he could not leave. An internal war raged between his heart and his head, even knowing that his heart had no chance of winning.

Athos glanced to his friend as the Musketeer fretted over the injured marksman with a gentleness that belied his size and strength. He would not only lose Aramis on this mission but Porthos as well. The other man wouldn't hear of leaving until they knew Aramis would be okay and Athos wouldn't dare ask him to. Two of his best men had been taken out of the mission with one shot from a well-aimed pistol.

Athos licked his lips before speaking. "Porthos, we have to push on."

He waited for the explosion. It didn't come. Instead, Porthos simply nodded his understanding. His lips pressed into a fine line as he sat back in the chair, the wooden supports creaking under his weight. "I know. When are you leaving?"

Athos sighed. "I'll give the men some time to bury our dead," he explained. He thought of the Spanish soldiers they'd left by the road. Aramis' desire to give the fallen a proper burial floated through his mind. The irony of the situation was not lost on Athos. Aramis' own life or death situation had provided them a moment respite to at least look after their own lost soldiers in a less hurried fashion.

"'e'll like that," Porthos stated with a sad smile.

Athos nodded. "We'll rest for a few hours and then get a move on while it's still night and just hope the delay hasn't done too much damage to the bigger picture."

"How many did we lose?" Porthos asked.

Athos looked up towards the ceiling as he quickly took a tally. "Counting Bernard?" He looked back at Porthos. "Three men. It's a small amount in comparison to the number of bodies we left for the Spanish to collect."

"It could 'ave been much worse."

Athos nodded in agreement. He had two letters to write. Bernard hadn't had a family. Looking to their injured friend he wondered who his letter of condolence would go to should he need to write it one day. They were what counted as Aramis' family and his son would never know what a hero his father – his real father - was.

"I can spare you a couple of men for when you are ready to catch up to us," Athos told him, hating that he wasn't one of those men.

Giving Aramis' shin one last squeeze, Athos pushed himself to his feet. His muscles were stiff and achy from overuse. They had earned a few hours respite. He took two steps towards Porthos and rested a hand on the big man's shoulder. "You should get some fresh air too."

Porthos shook his head, glancing up at Athos with an appreciative smile. "Nah, I'm staying right here."

"I could make it an order."

Porthos looked back up at him, his determined gaze now focused on him. Athos wouldn't force the issue. Porthos had been looking after himself for a long time. He was quite good at it. "I have to …"

"It's okay," Porthos assured him, patting the older man's hand before bringing his attention back down his patient.

"You'll call me if …"

"You know I will. Go. See to your men."

XXAll4OneXX

The map was spread out on the floor before them, illuminated by flickering candlelight. Its markings were light and faded in colour but visible enough to make some sort of sense of direction.

"If we follow the road until this point," Alain instructed, pressing the tip of his index finger to a position on the map for emphasis. "And then leave it in favour of this direction I believe we'd make better time."

Athos studied Alain's suggestion as he held two corners of the map to the floor. "It is unknown terrain," he pointed out, looking up to meet Alain's green-eyed stare. d'Artagnan stood next to the veteran Musketeer holding a candle. He chewed at the corner of his thumb in thought. "What are you thinking?"

d'Artagnan opened his mouth and then closed it again. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and met Athos' gaze. "What if we split up…?"

"No. Out of the question." Athos shook his head. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he spoke incredulously. "We've already split up too much." Between the deaths of their men and the men staying behind with Aramis they'd lost half their strength.

"Wait a minute and hear me out …" d'Artagnan tried.

"Captain, he may have a point."

Athos held up a hand to halt the rising debate. "No." d'Artagnan had proven himself to be smart and cunning on many occasions. But he was also cocky and reckless at times. The Intel was too important to send with one person. d'Artagnan was too important to lose on a possible suicide mission. Aramis had yet to even waken and now d'Artagnan was offering himself up as the next sacrifice to this damned war.

Alain scoffed. "Captain … Athos, I think you need to hear the lad out." He let go of the map, taking the candle that d'Artagnan past to him.

d'Artagnan leaned over the map and pointed to the road in question. "What if we took this road like Alain suggested instead of going off road all together, one person with the Intel takes the short-cut. It would allow that rider to get there faster while any focus – if any – remains on the group."

The plan had merit, but the company was already split up with Aramis out of action. And who would he send? It was dangerous. If the person were caught …

"I won't be caught," d'Artagnan stated confidently.

"You?" Athos raised an eyebrow in question to d'Artagnan's assumption that he would allow him to be the one to go.

"You're volunteering?" Alain asked in surprise before turning to look at Athos. "The boy may have a death wish but … I can see what you see in him." Alain clapped a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "That's a brave offer, son."

"d'Artagnan …" Athos started but was quickly interrupted by the younger man.

"No, wait, listen." d'Artagnan pressed his hands flat against the table as he gave his sole attention to Athos. "Athos, you've sent me on solo missions like this before. In fact you've sent me to infiltrate a Spanish stronghold before. You know I can do it."

Alain was now directing his stare at Athos, waiting for him to make a decision. "It's a risk, Captain but we're already behind. That intel needs to get there as soon as possible. That's the reason for this whole mission."

"You know it's our best option. We can't let our men die for nothing. We can't let Aramis…" d'Artagnan paused, not willing to finish that sentence. If at all possible, d'Artagnan's eyes seemed to grow larger by the second. "I can do this," he repeated.

Athos silently wondered if this were a test. Some higher power was surely testing his strength and resolve. Two friends were to be left behind, while another was to ride off ahead without any backup. Athos sighed and ran a hand down his face. d'Artagnan was right. He hated that he was right. He wanted to forbid even the idea of splitting up further than they already were but …

"You _can_ do this," Athos stated confidently. If anyone could do this? It was d'Artagnan.

Alain straightened up and handed the candle back to d'Artagnan. "Alright then. We have a plan."

"Gather the men. We leave in five minutes," Athos ordered

As Alain walked away, Athos rolled up the map and secured it. d'Artagnan was readjusting his new armour. He was still getting used to it. Aramis' armour hadn't been low enough. If it had been then maybe they would be all riding out of the house together. d'Artagnan needed new armour. So did Aramis. That would be his first bit of business once they got back to neutral ground.

"Athos?"

Athos blinked and found d'Artagnan staring at him. "What?"

"You're troubled."

He couldn't deny it. "I don't like this." He didn't like this one bit. "But … I don't have to like it. We have a job to do. Go and get yourself ready to leave."

d'Artagnan turned around to follow in the direction Alain had taken. He'd only made it a few steps when Athos' name was shouted from upstairs. Panic stilled his heart at the sound of Porthos' voice. d'Artagnan paused, twisting around to lock eyes with Athos. "Aramis," he gasped.

Athos was on the move before he even realised it, d'Artagnan hot on his heels as they raced up the stairs. Approaching the door, Athos only hesitated slightly before he pushed the wooden barrier open and entered the room. His heart had climbed all the way up into his throat by the time he approached the bed.

"Aramis, you're awake," d'Artagnan stated softly.

The smile in the younger Musketeer's voice broke the spell of fear that had taken hold. Athos forced his gaze to locate the familiar brown orbs of his friend. Aramis' eyes were open and locked onto his before they slowly slipped closed again.

Athos moved to the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey there," he said quietly, eliciting a slow blink as Aramis forced his eyes open again.

"H-Hey …" The marksman croaked, his eyes slipping closed once more.

d'Artagnan's hand invaded his vision and Athos followed the arm up to the Gascon's face as the young man pressed his palm to Aramis' forehead. "There's no fever," he stated as he smiled at Athos and Porthos.

"That's good," Porthos sighed, relief filling his voice.

Athos looked back down at his friend, squeezing his shoulder. "Open your eyes for us, Aramis."

It took a few tries but eventually the warm brown eyes opened and slowly focused on Athos. He smiled lazily. "Hey," he said again. He rolled his head towards d'Artagnan, smiling up at him. "How'ami, Doctor?" he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep.

"No fever and you're colour looks a bit better."

"The wound is clean. You'd be impressed with, d'Artagnan's needlework," Porthos told him.

"Mmmhmm…" he mumbled as he rolled his head in the other direction, looking for Porthos. "Is …is everyone okay?" Aramis asked, his hand moving to his bandaged side. "Ow…"

Everyone was not okay. Some of them would never leave this property, buried 6 foot deep in their final resting place. But right in that moment, surrounded by his brothers, Athos pushed his sadness aside. "We're fine, my friend. It's you that gave us the scare."

Aramis huffed, coherency slowly forming. "I'm sorry." His face scrunched up as he shifted, clutching at his side. Porthos clasped his hand in his and held it away from the healing wound.

"Just don't do it again, okay?" d'Artagnan joked.

"Hazards of … hazards of war I'm afraid. Danger comes with the job description," Aramis stated nonchalantly, like he hadn't just nearly lost his life on the battlefield.

That calmness could be infuriating at the best of times, especially when the other man was right. There was no way to avoid the danger. That knowledge didn't make it any easier to bear. Being a Musketeer had always been a dangerous profession. It was exciting and something he was extremely proud of but he was no fool. He knew the dangers. War just intensified them to a frightening level.

"I think brotherhood counts as a hazard of war then," Porthos added, squeezing the injured man's hand, nudging Athos as he grinned at d'Artagnan.

Brotherhood. The bonds he shared with these men was something that kept him going. They trusted each other to be there, to do the right thing and to always come back to each other. Looking up at d'Artagnan, he knew that the boy was right. This job was no different to any other solo mission he'd sent him on. His biggest decision in this war was to trust in his friends as they trusted in him, as Treville had trusted in him.

Athos smiled. "That is a hazard of war I can live with."

**The End**


End file.
